The Black Sheep Heir. Crystal Green

and that was the frightening thing. With his bulky coat broadening his shoulders, his wide-brimmed hat hiding all but that blond ponytail, his slow-molasses gait as he allowed Taggert to drag him out of the woods, Connor Langley was the scariest creature Lacey had encountered in a long time.

      Maybe even more horrifying than the dark-robed ghosts who knocked at the entry to her dreams most nights. Ghosts she’d left behind as a teenager: severe depression, unworthiness, emptiness.

      As Connor came nearer, a distant part of Lacey wanted to return to a protective shell, the shell she’d destroyed after returning to Kane’s Crossing, to a family who embraced her and everything she’d gone through.

      Yet instead of cowering, Lacey gathered her strength while Tag introduced her to the man hiding in her cabin.

       Chapter Three

       A n hour later, Lacey watched through the kitchen’s glass window while Connor helped Tag and Tamela put the finishing touches on something they called a “snow wookie.” It resembled a cross between a fuzzy dog and a long-limbed giant but, hey, the kids loved it.

      Connor laughed—actually laughed—as he held up Tamela so she could meticulously sculpt the wookie’s plush lips. Lacey couldn’t believe this was the same man who grimaced at her every time she asked him a personal question.

      But she ended up smiling, too, his happiness tickling her.

      They finished their work of art, standing back, the children checking to see if Lacey was paying attention by waving at her. She gave a thumbs-up sign and continued with her hot cocoa preparation.

      Moments later, they’d disappeared, and Lacey could hear them in the mudroom, stomping the snow off their boots. Then, they entered the kitchen, Tamela and Tag trailing Connor, their eyes fixed on him with a fascination you could only get away with as a child.

      “Your creation is really something,” Lacey said, handing the steaming beverages to the kids. Tag grabbed his mug with one hand, since the other was merely a nub—a disfigurement he’d been born with, not that it mattered in the least to him.

      When Lacey gave Connor his cocoa, she tried to avoid his gaze, but failed. Instead, they locked glances, both of their hands on the mug.

      Adrenaline surged around her heart, poking at it, reminding her that it had been a long time since she’d been this attracted to a man. In fact, Lacey couldn’t ever remember a feeling this intense, not even with the one serious postclinic boyfriend she’d dated, made love with, been rejected by.

      “Much obliged,” he said, still looking at her while bringing the drink to his lips.

      Tamela started walking into the living room, where Lacey had stoked a roaring fire. “Tell your friend to help us with the origami.”

      “I’m sure my friend would like to relax.” Lacey followed the kids into the next room. A floor-to-ceiling window lent light to the area, emphasizing hickory floors and lodgepole-pine-logged walls. The stone fireplace, with its built-in mosaic of faded oriental-themed tiles, dominated the room. She wondered if Conn would think her taste off-kilter. She wondered why she cared.

      Tamela sighed and settled on a thick rug across the large room with Tag to practice the Japanese art of folding paper into shapes. Lacey had taught the kids origami for baby-sitting days like this, when her family and friends needed “couple time” with each other.

      As the children began their task, the Renos’ two cuddly Maltese dogs wandered over and nestled against Tag and Tamela, completing the cozy picture.

      Lacey sat on an overstuffed couch opposite the fire, and was surprised when Conn took a place next to her. For a full five minutes they merely watched the kids manipulating the squares of paper, Tamela helping Tag when he needed it.

      Conn turned to her. “I didn’t mean anything by last night. Didn’t mean any hard feelings.”

      “Of course not.” Did they really need to hash this out?

      “Good,” he said, evidently thinking they were clear on the matter. “I don’t want ill will between us.”

      She shook her head. “You make no sense to me.”

      “That’s a good way to keep it.”

      She kept her voice low, so as not to include the kids in the conversation. “Why in tarnation are you in my house, Connor? I thought you wanted to hide in that cabin.”

      He paused, then laughed. “I got caught. By a little kid, no less.”

      “So much for being a hermit.” It occurred to Lacey that he might crave companionship as much as she did. Who wouldn’t in the cold of winter, when everything seemed so bleak and removed?

      She continued. “I thought you didn’t want anyone to know where you were. Instead, you advertise your presence.”

      Conn rested his mug on a thigh, drawing Lacey’s gaze to the firm muscles beneath his tan pants. She glanced away.

      He said, “I told Tag and Tamela I’m an old friend who was driving through town and wanted to say hi to you. That should cover any questions your relatives might ask.”

      “Yeah. You’ve got everything covered.”

      “Lacey.”

      Reluctantly, she looked over at him, regretting that every peek made her heartbeat thump a little faster, made it harder to catch her breath.

      His hand drifted up, then jerked back, almost as if he wanted to touch her face again. Lacey’s belly warmed as she recalled last night’s fleeting caress.

      “Don’t be angry with me,” he said. “I don’t want to talk about why I’m here or why I want to be left alone. All you need to know is that I’m not going to do anything to cause you harm.”

      Didn’t he know his presence made her question her loneliness for the first time in years? And that, in itself, caused her plenty of pain?

      A resounding knock on the kitchen door forced Lacey to bolt out of her seat. “I’ve got it.”

      She left Conn sitting by himself, staring into the fireplace. Appropriate, since he wanted to be alone anyway. Didn’t he?

      On the way to the other room, she passed the kids, who were still immersed in their art.

      As she entered the kitchen, she saw a shape filling the door’s window. A husky, rag-padded woman with a ruddy complexion and slanted black eyes. The lady, known around these parts as The Wanderer, smiled, showing a gap where her two front teeth used to be. She resembled one of those apple dolls, skin sucked in and shriveled, clothed in tattered threads and third-hand shoes.

      Lacey opened the door, knowing the old woman wouldn’t enter her kitchen. “How are you tonight, ma’am?”

      “Fine as can be, Miss Lacey.”

      She went to a cupboard, where she always kept a prepared sack of food for The Wanderer. The old woman didn’t come around more than a couple times a week, and Lacey felt compelled to help however she could, especially since most people in Kane’s Crossing liked to make-believe the homeless woman didn’t exist.

      The elderly lady took the sack, bowing her head. “You’re a kind one.”

      “Nonsense. I only wish you’d let me do more.” Usually, at this point, she asked The Wanderer if she had somewhere to sleep, if she’d like to stay in the cabin in the woods, but Lacey bit her tongue.

      The old woman cast her a glance that clearly told Lacey she’d noticed the omission in their ritual, the lack of cabin talk. Then, after a beat, she said, “Well, thanks much. I got places to go.”

      “You have a safe week.”

      Lacey watched The Wanderer hobble away, wondering where the woman spent nights, wondering who she used to be—who she was.

      God,